This one is for harri3tspy

Come heavy sleep, the image of true death;
And close up these my weary, weeping eyes:
Whose spring of tears doth stop my vital breath,
And tears my heart with sorrow�s sigh-swollen cries:
Come and possess my tired thoughts-worn soul,
That living dies till thou on me bestole.

Come shadow of my end, and shape of rest,
Allied to death, child to his blackfaced night:
Come though and charm these rebels in my breast,
Whose waking fancies do my mind affright.
O come sweet sleep; come, or I die for ever:
Come ere my last sleep comes, or come never.

John Dowland

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